


A Few Wily Concerns

by Amelia041223



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ... - Freeform, And someone still got hurt, Angst and Humor, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Most Certainly Not Fraternizing With The Enemy, Aziraphale panicking in the 16th century, Blood, Crowley does not like frying pans, Ducks, Except there are no ducks, Fluff, Fluff everywhere, Flustered Aziraphale, Gen, Hopelessly Hopeful Crowley, Hurt Crowley, Just a Pair of Ineffable Disasters, Just a spot of lunch, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oops, Or a made up deleted scene from episode 3, Pre-Season/Series 01, Probably the fluffiest goddamn thing I've written in over two years, See a Wile, Some tea, That's it, The Author Certainly Doesn't, Thwarting Another Wile, Ya Thwart, also, anyway, caring Aziraphale, he's just, hopeless crowley, ineffable husbands, just a bit, miracles miracles everywhere, nope - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, surely Gabriel won't mind, that's all it is, who knows - Freeform, witchfinders, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: Aziraphale wasn’t panicking.Angels did not panic. That was strictly what humans did (and alarmingly often.)No, Aziraphale was simply calmly worried, and there was a distinct difference.Or, it's 16th century England, the Witchfinders are all out and about, shouting and muchmuchworse, and Aziraphale knows their ideal kindling are those with unsubtle magical abilities, unconventional personalities, and, preferably, red hair.And he just so happens to know a demon who, somehow, matches that very description.And he's not panicking.He's not.





	A Few Wily Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyyy my first Good Omens fic, finally got around to it, and wrote this thing impulsively by hijacking [this lovely tumblr post](https://midnight-mismanagement.tumblr.com/post/186343515488/so-can-you-imagine-how-scared-aziraphale-was) by technicallyonappletreeduty, where I originally posted this fic. 
> 
> Featuring Witchfinder Private Thou-Shalt-Not-Lay-Your-Filthy-Hands-On-Crowley Aziraphale. 
> 
> Anyway, I had fun, and I hope you enjoy :)

Aziraphale wasn’t panicking.

Angels did not panic. That was strictly what humans did (and alarmingly often.) 

No, Aziraphale was simply _calmly worried,_ and there was a distinct difference. 

His hands most certainly _did not_ shake as he fumbled with the curtain of his modest home, set in what was _supposed_ to be a peaceful countryside (which had been, of course, too much to ask for). Peeping out into the muggy morning air, Aziraphale watched as another party went by, pitchforks sufficiently brandished, another boorish young man in a questionable hat yelling to the sky about the treachery of witchcraft and women and exercise.

It seemed they were only having another little parade, to get the villagers all perfectly riled up and in the spirit of things. Not - they hadn’t chosen another one yet.

Not after the last had so _miraculously_ escaped. That had…rather put everyone in a bit of a tizzy. But a little more wary at least. For the time being.

Unfortunately, however, they weren’t alone. No, in several other formerly idyllic villages all over the countryside (all over the world), more men in questionable hats were setting their fires and waving their pitchforks and yelling their _ideals,_ and- and- 

It was all a bit much. Too much, in fact.

Aziraphale let the curtain fall, whispering back into place as he turned away, vaguely wishing for a cup of cocoa (and promptly miracle-ing one into his hand after a moment’s thought.) 

And quickly set it down before it spilled. His hands would not keep still. 

Because - because - they were _burning people_. Humans were burning _other_ humans, and - and he’d had to be even more careful with his little jobs, but it didn’t seem to matter for him because they weren’t looking for people who - who _looked like him (_ although his neighbours had been becoming increasingly more spontaneous with their visits and he’d had to cough politely more than once to get them to stop peering at his personal artifacts _thank you very much_ ) No,they were looking for women, and - and people with _reddish hair_ (the colour of satan or some such drivel, which was ridiculous. The way Crowley told it, Satan didn’t even _have_ any hair to speak of - )

Crowley _._

Crowley had red hair. 

And a certainly _creative_ personality, and those - those _wily_ (snake, great big yellow slitted snake) eyes of his, and what if - what if the humans didn’t quite like all that and he wasn’t wearing his clever little shades he somehow always seemed to have on hand, and what if they caught him tempting (or miracle-ing) or whatever it was demons did (Evil, demons did Evil, angels did Good, but Crowley just seemed to always be _inconveniencing_ rather than what classified as _evil-doing_ and he was _not_ going to think about all that right now - ) 

What if Crowley was…

What if someone…

Ridiculous. It was all - Crowley was a _demon_ (not an aardvark) _,_ he would be _perfectly_ alright, Aziraphale was simply panick- _calmly worrying_ a bit too much, he would be _fine._

There was more yelling outside. More chanting. More pitchfork brandishing.

He would be _fine_. 

(But what if he wasn’t fine? What if the humans finally got him, threatened him with holy water or crosses or _garlic_ \- _no that was for something else_ \- and he couldn’t get himself away in time and the humans had learned how to - how to _hurt so much more effectively_ over the years, and what if it was too much for a demon’s body? What if he die- _discorporated,_ but- but what if hell didn’t feel much like giving him another body and then Crowley would be _gone_ and Aziraphale would be _all alone_ and- and- )

Aziraphale started packing.

Which was to say, he was thrusting various items into a bag without much thought to what they were, and had neglected the appropriate folding time (which would leave everything so terribly wrinkly but there wasn’t _time what if they had gotten Crowley already and he was too late-_ )

He paused. Took a breath (he didn’t need to breathe.) Let it out.

Heaven wouldn’t like this. If they found out he was heading off to - 

Well. He wasn’t. He was - he was _thwarting the wiles of the enemy_ , this whole witchfinding-burning- _thing_ was bound to be _someone’s_ demonic work at least, so he was merely- merely _investigating_. Yes. And perhaps Crowley had something to do with all of this ( _he didn’t_ ) and if he found anything, well, Heaven (silent silent Heaven) would have something to go on and the Divine Forces could only thank him for all his hard work.

Yes.

That was all it was.

Thwarting.

Thwarting another wile.

Aziraphale plucked his bag from his bed, slung it over his shoulder, strode past his cooling cocoa (it would be cold soon) and went out the door, locking it carefully behind him.

And then he bolted.

* * *

Crowley was smiling.

Crowley was smiling. And bleeding. And standing on a distinctly ominous looking pile of twigs and bundles of very pointy sticks surrounded by frowning, very unhygienic humans carrying torches of fire, and rocks, and pots of - pots of water- no not water- 

“Azira- Aziraphlnnnn,” Crowley blinked from where he slumped against a _stake_ of all things, rope looped around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides, and blood matting his hair as he positively _grinned,_ lazy and a tad sheepish if Aziraphale were to judge. 

“Crowley! What in heaven- what in hell- _what in_ \- ”

“I was- I was just about to miraclll- pop myself out of here, but you know, Mrs Finchby is so devil- devilishly adept with the- with the- pan thing, ingeni- ingeniousss invention, really, but I was going to jussst wriggle myself out of here- ”

“My dear boy, what on _earth-”_

 _“_ They think- gnnnnk- they think I’m a- a _demon_ ,” Crowley giggled, long copper hair almost like fire in the afternoon sun, clotted and dirty, eyes bright and _exposed_. “A _demon_. Imagine that! Evil, evil, aw- awful- ”

“Crowley- ”

“Wh- watch out for Mrs Finchby!”

“What?”

And indeed Aziraphale was forced to duck as a lady with arms the size of tree trunks, skirts and an apron hiked up around her knees, took a swing with a reasonably-to-be-assumed deadly culinary device. 

Undeterred, she hefted her weapon back for another murderous attempt on his ethereal person.

“Really, now, is that necessary?”

Mrs Finchby was inclined to believe it was.

Aziraphale flung out his hands. This had gone on _long enough_ and- _he had been right he had been right and he had nearly been too late and Crowley needed him-_

A few miracles later (Heaven would understand, surely,) and Aziraphale was in the nearest little secluded house he could find with all the curtains and doors firmly closed and slightly barricaded, with Crowley lying on the bed. Blinking.

He had been conveniently asleep for the ride.

“Wha-”

“There we are, my dear,” Aziraphale brushed a hand over Crowley’s head, and the blood and bruises were _very thoroughly_ miracled away. Crowley blinked again. 

“Angel?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Oh.”

“Now, would you kindly like to explain to me _what you were_ _doing_ , Crowley? How did the humans even- you were going to be _discorporated_.”

“No I wasn’t!” Crowley insisted, propping himself up on his elbows after a few tries, “I was just going about my business, as anyone does, except- except there was that other…someone…” Crowley turned to muttering, words mostly indistinct except for “ _poor sod_ ” and “ _couldn’t leave them like that_ ” and “ _would have gotten away with it too,”_ until he flicked his gaze back up. “I was fine until Mrs Finchby got- got _involved_ and then they had all that- that _water_ and stones and things lying around, and I was just about to be on my way, but you beat me to it, now, didn’t you?”

“You could have been _killed_.”

“Well, yes, that would have been a lot of paperwork, but I was fine- ”

“But what if- what about if Hell didn’t- ” _give you another body_.

“It was all perfectly fine. Now- hold on,” Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He paused. “What were you even doing there? I hadn’t missed…I hadn’t…we didn’t have lunch scheduled, did we?”

“Of course not, I-!”

Aziraphale abruptly shut his mouth. Felt his teeth click.

And Crowley’s eyes had suddenly become _a lot_ clearer. 

“Angel? Were you…” He leaned forward. Just a bit. “Were you _worried_ about me?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

Crowley’s lips twisted up into a grin the _absolute demon_.

“Really?”

“Yes. Quite sure, in fact.”

And then Crowley’s face did something peculiar. It…fell a little. His shoulders shifted, curling inward, his head tipping down to watch his hands fiddle with the sheet. 

“Right, then,” he said. “Right. Yeah. You were…you were just drifting through, weren’t you, looking to cure someone of the bl-bloody flux again, which is apparently a lot more dangerous to do these days…people don’t…people don’t like feeling better…”

Crowley’s knees curved up a bit. Close to his chest. He fiddled a little more.

“I suspect you’ll be wanting me gone then,” he said, “have some- some Heavenly duties to get to, I imagine.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. Shuffled his feet. Smoothed the blanket. 

Heaven wouldn’t - wouldn’t _like_ this sort of thing, would they? And he had performed so many miracles in such a short amount of time, would they check up?

But. 

Well.

Crowley was probably still hurt.

Witchfinders were still out there. 

And Crowley wasn’t particularly subtle, now was he? (Neither was Aziraphale, but that was _beside the point_.)

And really it…it was just a spot of lunch, now, wasn’t it?

(And what Heaven didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, could it?)

Yes. It would be fine.

And Aziraphale…Aziraphale let himself smile.

“Nonsense, you only just got here.”

Crowley’s head jerked up. 

“And you could use a good meal, I think. Nearly being burned at the stake must have certainly worked up a bit of an appetite, hmm?”

Something like…like surprise flickered across Crowley’s face before it was hastily snuffed out.

Maybe it hadn’t even been there.

“Ah, yes, yeah, sounds- sounds good,” he said, smiling. And it was gentle. A little hesitant. 

Aziraphale took the demon’s hand in his own.

And didn’t think about what would have happened if he had arrived just a little later than he did.

Didn’t think about a world where a spot of lunch would always - always be _alone_.

It was wrong to think this way.

He was fraternizing with the enemy.

Consorting with the Evil of the Opposition.

But.

But it was just _Crowley_.

And the enemy, at this moment in time, was in need of some tea.

And Aziraphale was damn well going to give it to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm soft.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, if you want, here's my [tumblr](https://midnight-mismanagement.tumblr.com/), and I hope you have yourselves a great day. :)


End file.
